


B is for Blow

by zebraljb



Series: The Alphabet Cycle [2]
Category: Boondock Saints RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 22:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zebraljb/pseuds/zebraljb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean's trip to the grocery store ends up a little more action-packed than he'd expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	B is for Blow

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a series of unrelated shorts inspired by a list of one-word prompts.

B IS FOR BLOW  
www.dictionary.com definition: a powerful stroke with the fist or a weapon

 

Sean whistles as he walks down the street, his briefcase in one hand, and a brown paper bag of groceries in the other. It’s a nice spring night, the expensive cat food was on sale, and the stuffed pork chops had looked particularly good today.

“Murphy, my boy, we will eat like kings tonight,” Sean whispers to himself, smiling fondly as he thinks of the grey furball that is probably asleep on Sean’s pillow at that very moment. Unfortunately, of late, Murphy is the ONLY thing sharing Sean’s pillow.

He uses the hand carrying the briefcase to nudge his glasses up his nose. The girls at the office kept trying to talk him into contacts, but he just didn’t have the time, or the vanity, to explore that possibility. He was a busy man. He had a thriving business as a partner in a tax firm, and his nights were kept busy with things like his martial arts classes. Okay, so maybe only two nights a week were busy with classes, but he had other things going on. Like…things. Sean sighs and hefts the bag up more securely. He’d like to find a boyfriend. No one likes being alone, even someone as independent as himself. And God knows he wouldn’t mind having a regular, safe sex partner. But it was just so hard. He wasn’t the barfly type, and it wasn’t like he was drawing them in swarms when he DID go out.

Sean sighs morosely, looking down at his neat grey suit, which he had thought made him look good just that morning. Who was he kidding? He was a nerd. He liked numbers. He lived with a cat. He watched Doctor Who. No hot man in his right mind would want anything to do with him.

He is so deep in his self-inflicted misery that he doesn’t pay attention to the two men walking towards him. They bump into him, sending his briefcase clattering to the ground. “Hey!” Sean says in surprise. He bends down to pick it up, and one of them gives him a sharp kick in the ass, and he’s soon on the ground with his briefcase. “What was that all about?”

“How about you keep it down, pretty boy?” One of the men sneers. In the dim twilight, Sean can’t really make out his features, but he’s sure the man isn’t pleasant.

“Pretty Boy? I’m not, really,” Sean babbles, trying to get to his feet.

“I didn’t ask your fucking opinion.” The man plants a foot on Sean’s abdomen, and Sean winces. He just knows that will leave a lovely bootprint on his dress shirt, and it’s the only clean one he has until he gets around to doing laundry.

“What’s in the briefcase, Pretty?” The second man asks.

“Just, uh, work. Spreadsheets and ledgers. Boring, huh?” Sean says weakly. He knows he could take care of these two men in short measure; he’s had years of martial arts training. Right now, however, he’s too fucking scared to even stand up. Years of training don’t necessarily give you courage.

“Yeah, that’s pretty boring.” The first man grabs Sean by the lapels of his coat and pulls him to his feet. He walks Sean backwards a few steps, slamming him hard against the closest brick wall. “What else do you got?”

“Well…” Sean does a quick mental inventory. “My groceries…but that’s mostly for my cat…and…and…some gum…and…”

“Money.” The man shakes Sean until his teeth rattle. “How much money?”

“Just the change from the store!” Sean insists. “Eight dollars and seventy-two cents.”

“Christ,” the second man gripes. “Karl, this is a fucking waste of time.”

The first man, Karl, keeps a hand against Sean’s chest, but pulls back a bit. His dark eyes run over Sean’s long body greedily. “I don’t think so, Harry.” He reaches up to lightly slap Sean’s cheek. “I’m sure he’s not a waste of time at all, are you, Pretty?”

Sean gasps, his eyes fluttering closed. This was NOT the kind of sex he had been wishing for. “Look…guys…if you let me go home, I have some money…”

“We don’t have time for that, do we, Harry?” Karl leers. His hand slides down Sean’s chest to cup between his legs.

“Just make sure and leave some for me,” Harry says eagerly.

Sean gathers all his courage and brings a knee up, connecting squarely between Karl’s legs. “Fuck!” Karl yells, and Sean shoves him away. He almost trips over Karl as Karl falls to his knees. Sean regains his balance and starts to run, not even thinking twice about his groceries that are now scattered on the sidewalk, or the briefcase that he steps on as he tries to escape.

Strong arms grab Sean by the shoulder. “Oh, fuck, please, no,” Sean begs. The arms shove Sean out of the way, and he falls to the ground, smacking his head on the sidewalk.

 

When Sean comes to, he’s cradled against something soft and warm. “Hey, c’mon, fella. Open your eyes,” he hears a soft voice saying. Something’s lightly slapping at his cheek.

Sean flutters his hand at the slapping. “Stop. I’m fine.” He tries to sit up, but is pinned down again.

“Hold on there, man. Just take it easy.” Sean opens his eyes and tries to focus in the dim light from the street lamp on the corner. “What’s your name?”

“S-Sean.”

“Okay, Sean, where do you live?”

“Eighteen-forty East Seventieth Street, Apartment six.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an accountant.”

He hears a chuckle. “That would explain a lot. Now, why don’t you sit up slowly? You took quite a blow to the head when I moved you out of the way.” Sean sits up and looks at the man who had been virtually holding him in his lap. “Uh, sorry about that, by the way. I needed you to move.”

“No need to drop me on my head,” Sean snaps. He rubs the back of his head and winces. 

“Look, I apologized. I coulda just let them rape you, if you wanted,” the man snaps back, and everything rushes back. Sean shudders, wrapping his arms around himself. “Hey, it’s okay now. They’re gone.” A comforting hand rests on Sean’s shoulder.

“Where…”

“Probably the nearest hospital.” There is pride in the man’s voice.

Sean takes his first good look at him. The man is wearing a red t-shirt that defines his shoulders and biceps, and a pair of blue jeans. His dark hair is shaggy and long around his face. He seems innocent enough, and his face is full of concern. “Th-thank you. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“No problem, Sean.” The man helps Sean to his feet. “I guess this is yours?” He holds up the battered briefcase.

“Yes,” Sean says with a sigh. “Oh, damn.” Sean catches sight of the crumpled paper bag. A few cans of cat food are laying on the sidewalk. He slowly begins to pick them up. “So much for the special dinner for me and Murphy,” he moans, picking up the bundle wrapped in white butcher’s paper.

“Murphy…is that your boyfriend?” The man asks softly.

“What? No. I don’t have a boyfriend,” Sean says quickly. The blood rushes to his head as he bends over to grab a can of cat food. “Whoa.”

“Hey, you just let me get that, okay?” The man leans Sean back against the wall where, just moments before, the man named Karl had shoved him. The man quickly picks up the cans and drops them into the bag.

“Murphy’s my cat, not my boyfriend.” Sean takes the bag that the man hands him, cradling it to his chest. “I, uh, don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You said that,” the man says, smiling. Sean draws in a deep breath at the transformation to the man’s face when he smiles. “I don’t have one either.”

“Would you like to come over for dinner?” Sean asks, hardly believing the words that are coming out of his mouth. “It’s the least I can do.”

“We’re not having that, are we?” The man motions to the white package in Sean’s hand. 

“No. I’ll cook something else, anything you want,” Sean says almost breathlessly.

“I’d love to, Sean.” The man holds out his hand. The fingers are thick and soft, and Sean feels a tingle as he shakes the man’s hand. “M’Norman.”

END - B


End file.
